Jeanne Dugas of Acadia (8 page)

“I think ... I think I will marry him.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes.”

“Good! Now maybe you should tell him.”

When Pierre appeared at the door the next day and looked at her expectantly, she said, “Yes, I will marry you, Pierre.” He gave a whoop and swept her into a hug. He was a bit shorter than her, but she found that she fit quite well into his arms. “Will you come with me to tell my family?” he asked. Joseph accompanied them.

The Bois family was delighted with the news, especially Pierre's mother. Her son was the first boy after four girls, and Jeanne knew he was very special to her. Everybody started to speak at once, making plans for the happy event. At the end of the day, there were plans for a wedding to take place just before the start of Advent, plans to build a piquet house for the new couple on the Dugas land, and promises from Pierre's father and grandfather Coste that the new schooner would be ready in the spring.

Jeanne allowed herself to get caught up in the excitement. Yet, lying awake on her paillasse that night, she had the same sense she had had during her family's last year in Louisbourg – that she was living on two levels: one the happy events of the day and the other the dark cloud of uncertainty hanging over all of them.

With the sailing and harvesting seasons over, their neighbours joined the Dugas and Bois men in a houseraising. The new piquet
house was built near Joseph's and his father-in-law's habitations. Joseph and Pierre's father made a table and benches, a bedstead and other simple furniture. Pierre's mother fashioned a straw paillasse
and provided some linens. In the meantime, Pierre and grandfather Coste started to work on Pierre's new schooner.

Joseph had seen his brothers Charles and Abraham in Grand-Pré during the summer and told them of the possibility of Jeanne's marriage. On their last meeting the two brothers sent Joseph back laden with gifts from Grand-Pré, including linen and woollen goods, dishes and provisions of grains and other foodstuffs from their gardens. Joseph also gave generously, of course, providing the couple with two cows and one hen.

Pierre radiated happiness. He was full of plans for their future. It seemed to Jeanne that she was the only one who was apprehensive. Everyone was so excited and happy that she eventually let herself be carried along and almost forgot her worries.

—

In early December of 1752, on the eve of Advent, Jeanne Dugas and Pierre Bois fils were united in marriage by the Recollet missionary at Port Toulouse, Père Chérubin Ropert. It was a festive occasion for the small community. Just about everyone participated, including a number of Mi'kmaw friends, among them Jean Sauvage. There was no mention of his nephew Martin. After the religious ceremony, everyone gathered at the Dugas compound to share food and music. As relatives and friends started to leave, Jeanne saw tears in Marie Braud's eyes. She was touched by this, although in her heart Jeanne thought that Marie was also pleased that she would now be the only woman in Joseph's habitation. She understood.

—

Their first winter as a couple passed quickly. Pierre spent all the daylight hours working on his new schooner with his father and grandfather. Jeanne was busy putting her new home in order. By the end of January in the new year, she knew she was expecting a child. Pierre was thrilled. Jeanne's first reaction was that she now had a new source for worry. What kind of world would this new Acadian baby face? She felt safe for the moment, with Pierre, her large family of in-laws and her brother Joseph nearby. But what if political events again forced them to flee?

She did not share her worries with Pierre, who at times seemed to expect her to be more like his mother. He simply assumed that his wife would leave the worrying to the men and concern herself only with her children and the confines of their habitation. Jeanne did not hold this against him. She realized he did not understand her need to know and comprehend the events happening in the outside world.

Pierre had been surprised to learn that Jeanne could read and write. She smiled as she remembered his reaction. He had looked at her as if she were some strange kind of being. She had reassured him that this was a good quality to have. She could help him with contracts when he became a caboteur with his own ship.

She kept her precious books, her blue silk gown, her necklace, her embroidered shawl, her portrait and the length of yellow silk given to her by Pierre in a bundle discreetly hidden at the bottom of a wooden chest. She had no use for these things now, but she would cling to them as long as she could. They were a link to a very different past and to the life she might have had.

Chapter 17

W
hen spring 1753 arrived, Jeanne was determined to face life serenely. She was now a married woman, with her own home, and expecting her first child. Pierre's schooner would not be finished before mid-summer, but he was happy with its progress. In the meantime he was happy to help Jeanne with the garden and the farm animals while he was at home. She could not have asked for a better husband, she thought, although she wished her mother-in-law would stop reminding her of this.

Late in the afternoon of a beautiful day in the first week of June, when Port Toulouse and its surrounding area was freshly green again, Jeanne went for a walk in the nearby woods, looking for mayflowers. Wrapped in her thoughts, she was suddenly aware of a presence near her, and turned around to find Martin. He was holding out a small bunch of mayflowers to her. “I thought you would be looking for these,” he said.

“Martin,” she said, reaching out a hand to take the flowers and then withdrawing it and guiltily covering her stomach with both hands. He calmly took in her gesture.

“Jeanne, your brother told me that you are married to Pierre. And expecting your first child. I am very happy for you.”

Of course, she should have known that Martin would be so kind. But why was she disappointed? Would she prefer to see him angry?

“Thank you,” she said.
Oh, why was this so difficult?
she thought. “You've been away for a long time, Martin.”

“Yes. I've been away helping my people.” She looked at him enquiringly. “I cannot tell you about it. Please,” he said, extending the flowers.

“Thank you, Martin.” She took the posy of mayflowers and buried her nose in them, letting the delicate petals and sweet aroma permeate her senses and hide her feelings.

“Let me walk back with you, Jeanne. You shouldn't be here alone.” He walked her to the edge of the clearing surrounding her house.

“Will I see you again?” she asked.

“Yes,” he nodded, and walked away.

After a moment she turned to see him and caught him looking at her with an expression, she imagined, of longing and pain. But he noticed her and his usual calm mask quickly took over. She continued back to the house.

—

In mid-summer Pierre launched his schooner, the
Angélique
. Asked to name the ship, Jeanne had chosen her late sister's name. Père Ropert came to bless the
Angélique
on the day of her maiden voyage. There was much excitement as Jeanne, her many in-laws, Marie Braud and Joseph's children came to the port to see the ship off. Pierre stood proudly at the prow, his eyes fixed on the horizon, master of his ship as the sail unfurled and billowed. His grandfather Coste stood beside him, equally proud. Jeanne stood on the wharf and watched the new schooner until it faded away on the horizon, her thoughts on what the future might bring.

The remainder of the summer passed without incident. Pierre managed to get a few small contracts to transport freight to Louisbourg. Jeanne knew he had hoped to do better, but she was not displeased. His trips were shorter and safer than those Joseph took. Since she was a young child Jeanne had heard the stories of ships and their captains lost at sea, their widows left mourning on the shore. She now understood the anxiety.

—

In mid-October, when the sailing season was coming to an end and Joseph was on his last voyage, Pierre had an opportunity to do one more trip. He was reluctant to go, because he knew that it would soon be time for Jeanne to deliver the baby, but he sorely wanted the money this last trip would bring. He asked for Jeanne's opinion. What could she say? Not even Pierre's mother suggested that he should refuse the trip for Jeanne's sake. So she told him to go. He assured her he would be back in five days.

Two days after he left, there were rumours that privateers from the New England colonies were prowling close to the shore near Port Toulouse. No doubt they too were trying to profit from the last sailing days of the year, and knew that many of the men of Port Toulouse would still be away. Soon Grandfather Coste arrived at the Dugas farm to report that a privateer ship had landed and ransacked a farm not far from where the Dugas were settled. He persuaded Le Maigre's family and Marie Braud and Joseph's children to flee to the Coste farm, which was farther inland and less likely to be attacked.

Jeanne knew that in her condition she could not walk that far, and certainly not quickly. They would have to try to reach the farm before dark. The baby had fallen in her womb and she realized that her time to give birth was near. She told Grandfather Coste she would go with Marie Braud and told Marie that she would go with the Leblancs. She hoped that in the confusion no one would notice right away that she was missing.

—

That same evening, the pains came. She was afraid. She had carefully prepared the baby's layette and Grandfather Coste had made a cradle for the child, but she was not well prepared to give birth alone. She had heard that sometimes the pains would start and then stop, perhaps for even as long as a day. But as the evening wore on, the pains got stronger.

It was already dark. The small cod oil lamp seemed to cast sinister shadows in her cosy home. She told herself she must be brave and she lay down on the paillasse. She began to pray, but her prayers were interrupted by a moan when a sharp pain seized her. Suddenly, she heard someone at the door.
Ah, mon Dieu
, she thought,
not the privateers
.

The door slowly opened, and in walked Martin.

“Martin?” Of course, he would be the only one walking about after dark.

“Jeanne ... Jeanne ... I saw there was a light.” He took in the situation at a glance. “Is the baby coming?”

“Yes.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Pierre and Joseph are at sea, and the others have gone to the Coste farm because of the privateers. I knew I couldn't make it with them.”

“Ah, Jeanne. How close are the pains?”

“Maybe every quarter hour.”

“I'm going to get someone to help you, Jeanne. I won't be long.” He put a gentle hand on her cheek. “Everything will be all right.”

He returned with a Mi'kmaw woman who took one look at her and shook her head.

“Grandmother has brought many babies into the world,” Martin said. “She will take good care of you.”

Jeanne felt tears coming.

“I am here, Jeanne.”

The midwife did not speak French. She spoke to Martin, who knelt at Jeanne's head and translated her instructions.

“You must be brave, Jeanne.” He spoke softly and rubbed her shoulders and soothed her. She felt herself relax, and now as the pains came she was less frightened and the pain did not seem so bad. At last, deep in the night hours, she gave a last push and felt the baby leave her body.

The midwife cut the cord, wiped the baby and rubbed it with oil. Jeanne heard the baby cry. Then the midwife wrapped the baby in a blanket and placed it on Jeanne's stomach. She said something to Martin.

“Grandmother says you have a beautiful and healthy baby girl,” he said. “I have to take Grandmother home now, but I will come back.”

They left quietly. Jeanne unwrapped the baby to see for herself that she had ten fingers and ten toes. She looked perfect. Now she thought of Pierre.

She felt exhausted and drained after the birth. And hurt at being abandoned. She held the baby and tried not to think. She wasn't sure how long it was before Martin returned.

“Martin, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you had to do this.”

“Jeanne, I am very happy that I was here to help you. We are special friends, you and I. You must not feel sorry.”

At this Jeanne burst into tears and could not stop.

Martin lay down beside her and wrapped his arms around her and the baby. She lay in his arms, her arms around her baby, and sobbed as if her heart would break.

When she had no more tears to shed, she fell into an exhausted sleep, and only woke when she heard the baby cry. Martin still held her in his arms. “I think the baby is hungry,” he said. It was daylight.

Martin stayed for a short time, while she nursed the baby, and he found some bread and head cheese for Jeanne to eat. He looked as if he were on the alert. Soon he said, “I think I hear someone.” He went outside to check. He always seemed to hear or sense someone or something before it happened.

“Some of your relatives are coming. They must have been very worried about you. I think I should go. Tell them I brought Grandmother to help you.” And before she could say anything, he stole away.

Pierre's return from his voyage was delayed. By the time he arrived his new baby girl was ten days old and Jeanne had recovered from her distress. Père Ropert baptized the baby Marie Marguerite for her two grandmothers. She would be known as Marie – petite Marie to distinguish her from her Grandmother Bois.

—

After his last voyage of the season, Joseph reported there were no major changes in the political situation, either good or bad. It appeared that Governor Hopson was trying to repair relations with both the Acadians and the Mi'kmaq after the treatment they had received from Governor Cornwallis, but this was doing little to stem the flow of Acadians leaving Nova Scotia.

Joseph had made more voyages than the previous year. He said he found it difficult to understand why so many Acadians would leave their prosperous farms for an uncertain future on Île Saint-Jean.

He had seen his brothers Charles and Abraham once during the whole summer. They were worried about their future, but had not yet made the decision to leave their farms in Grand-Pré. They reminded him of their plan to seek refuge in the Miramichi area if they decided the situation was dangerous.

“They seem to think that I'm leading a dangerous life,” Joseph told Jeanne, “but I think their situation in Nova Scotia is more perilous.” Jeanne tended to agree with Charles and Abraham, but she knew Joseph would not change.

—

Once again they faced a winter of silence, closed off from the outside world by ice and snow – a period when all they could do was to ponder their fate. On one hand, there was the general feeling of dread caused by the building of the new British fort at Halifax and the plans to bring in a large number of new settlers. On the other hand, they now hoped to receive fair treatment from Governor Peregrine Hopson. But would this be enough? Jeanne was torn between worrying about how the political situation could affect their lives and worrying about her responsibilities as a wife and mother.

She had grown up in Joseph's confidence. He had kept the promise he made to her when she was very young, that he would keep her informed of political events that could affect their lives, and he had always treated her as an adult. She had lived within the circle of his life, where this information came easily. Now, that had changed. Now, she was a married woman living in her husband's home.

She realized that Joseph, although he had approved of her marriage, did not treat Pierre as an equal. At first she thought it was because of her husband's youthfulness – Joseph, and his father-in-law Le Maigre, were of an older generation. But she came to believe that it was more likely because Pierre did not share their patriotic zeal as Acadians. Yes, Pierre was Acadian and proud of it, but Jeanne was certain that he had never thought in terms of fighting for the Acadian cause. It was obvious that Pierre resented her easy access to her brother and her interest in events in the world outside her habitation, thinking it unseemly in a woman.

Pierre knew that Joseph shared his news and plans with Jeanne, often when Pierre himself was not included in the discussions. And when he had asked Joseph about the possibility of Pierre using his new schooner to transport Acadians, Joseph had discouraged the idea. Jeanne was annoyed with her brother for excluding her husband – after all Joseph was only one of a number of caboteurs profiting from this trade.

Pierre Bois did not lack confidence in himself. As a settler, as an Acadian, as a caboteur and as a family man, Pierre had his own strengths. But Jeanne knew that Joseph's daring, his rashness, his enjoyment of risk, made Pierre look ordinary and plodding. She wished that Joseph could be more understanding.

Joseph understood Jeanne's concerns, and said he would keep her informed of any news he received. With a bitter smile Jeanne told him she would miss him when he left on the spring tides, but she would not miss having to listen to Le Maigre's loud diatribes against the British and almost everyone and everything else.

“I still don't like him,” she said.